Confessions of a Shadowlaw Soldier
by Vammy
Summary: A randomly updated confessional. Julian Marquez's continuing story told in the way only he could tell it raw and real. You know who he is if you have read my Cammy series.
1. Confessions of a Shadowlaw Soldier

            Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been a very long time since my last confession.

            You know, I can still remember being just a little kid, twelve actually, and how much it fucking hurt when they gave me this dammed tattoo. My father said it would 'toughen me up'. Yeah, it sure toughened me up. How much toughening up does a twelve year old need? But that's how he always was. A tough Dad. He could never show any weakness, and neither could his only son. He didn't understand that it was different for me. I wanted to be outside playing. Not sitting in the corner while he gambled with his business associates. And I sure as hell didn't want to be getting that tattoo. I had dreams. Heh…can you believe that I wanted to be a fire fighter? I can just see me now, saving kittens from trees and shit like that. I wish that was me now. I hate my fucking father! Why did he have to be a gang lord? Why couldn't he work at some nice office building like everyone else's fathers?

            It was shortly before getting the tattoo that he wanted to take us to Chicago. My Ma wouldn't go. It could've been because she was scared to leave New York or it could have been because she didn't love him. By the way, she didn't love him. I know this for a fact because she told me. Maybe it was actually that she didn't love who he had become. Hell, I didn't love who he had become. It sucks to find out that your parents don't love each other. Kinda makes you feel like you aren't right, like you weren't supposed to be, you know? But he left to make his 'business' larger. He left me with my Ma. They were never married, so a divorce wasn't needed. I think he really did love her in some strange way, just not enough to give up the money. Hell, he loved the money enough to give up me. I think that's when I started to figure my life out. The tattoo wasn't to toughen me up, though it did. It was to protect me from the people who feared my father. Without my knowledge I became a part of his gang. I was a Latin King. I still can't believe that that is all it took. Thirty minutes of intense pain traded for a lifetime of…a lifetime of this shit!

            My father hated my Ma after all that. He didn't give her one red cent. He didn't desert me though. Everything he gave me I received through his connections, which meant I was not only a member, I was an active member. Got me into a lot of trouble too. Funny to think that it was supposed to keep me out of it.

            I was sixteen when they gave me the gun. Before then I had been in so many fights that they all ran together. A lot of pain. I did all the drugs, was with all the women, I fit in just fine. But this was different, we were supposed to kill someone. I guess it was the last thing I needed to do to totally be one of the guys. Kinda harsh if you ask me. I did it. I aimed, pulled the trigger as the car drove by and then it was done. All the guys said I did a great job, that my father would be proud. It was horrible the pain I felt, the guilt. The man I killed had a life, a family. I found that out for damn sure. His brother came after me about a year later. Shot me in the gut while he cursed me. And I thought the tattoo hurt. I really thought I was going to die. While I was lying on the ground, bleeding, I realized just what I had done. That hurt more than my wound. I started to cry like a baby, the guys thought I was delirious when they found me, but I knew exactly what was going on.

            I survived as you can see. Sometimes I wish he had killed me. God knows I deserved it. I deserved to suffer and die. But God has His own way of working things out. I guess suffering and dying wasn't bad enough. I had to live on, and suffer. Fuck I need a cigarette. 

            They say a near death experience makes a man appreciate life. That's bull shit. I hated life then. Hated my father, hated my Ma, hated myself and the whole fucking world. I just wanted to die. That's when the drugs got really bad. 

            I got into LSD. It was my favorite. Not like Coke where you go up then come down. It was a fucking ride, eight, nine, even ten hours of it. I would shout to the world that I was here and alive. 

            Julian Marquez was fucking alive! 

            And damn sex was fucking good. It was like never ending pleasure. It's the only thing that could make my high better, being with a hot girl and making her feel good. That's the only time I wanted to be alive, when I was tripping. 

            Never did needles though, Just something about them I didn't like. I never liked needles of any sort. My Ma used to have to hold me down to get a shot. My father's flunkies had held me down to give me the tattoo. Fuck them and fuck him! 

            I remember when I realized how bad the drugs had gotten. I didn't wake up, because I wasn't asleep, but that's what it felt like. Like waking up from a wonderful dream and then seeing reality. I was with a girl. God she was beautiful. I was on top of her, with her if you know what I mean. She was beating her hands against my chest and yelling. I stopped moving and took it all in. She pulled out from under me and ran like hell out of the room screaming. She said I was going to pay for what I did to her. Thing is I couldn't remember what I did. But I put it together. I had raped her. She didn't want to make love to me and I raped her. I was strong. A life like mine makes you strong no matter how weak you are inside. Sex is fucking good when you're tripping. Did I say that already?

            Well if I did that just proves my point. I would do anything for it. I still think about that now sometimes. The temptation is always there. I always want to feel like that again. To wash away everything shitty in my life and just feel alive. But it cost too much. Not money wise. It takes away from your soul. 

            That night I quit all drugs. It was fucking hard too. There was nothing to mask what I had become. Then I did something I hadn't done for a really long time. I went to church. I remember the rainy Sunday morning I staggered into the church, I had been up all night pacing from the need for some fucking acid. I deliberately sat in the last pew and listened. 

            It was about forgiveness. My heart leapt. I needed forgiveness more than all the drugs or sex or combination of the two in the world. I saw Jesus and what he did for people he didn't even know, even for the people that killed him and made him suffer. He not only forgave them, he saved them. There had to be forgiveness for me, even if I couldn't forgive myself. That's when I got my other tattoos. I hated needles, you know that, I told you lots of times already. But it was like a sacrifice. Like Christ did for me. I got His crown of thorns around my arm here and the cross He hung on here on my back. Hurt like bloody hell. The whole time it was getting done I thought of what He did for me without knowing me. And I prayed, prayed like hell that I would find forgiveness somewhere. 

            I couldn't help but think of my father then. Pain always made me think of him. I hadn't seen him in years. I think I talked to him a couple of times but it must have been when I was messed up so bad because I can't really recall much of anything. I decided not to contact him. I went home to my Ma. She was living in the poorest part of the Bronx with some stupid fuck Joe Blow. I don't even remember his name. But he was supporting her and her new drug habit. Shit, right when I thought I had gotten all that shit out of my life, it's back in my fucking face. It was hard and easy at the same time. I wanted the drugs, bad, really bad. But then I saw my beautiful Ma and what they did to her and I was able to resist. I must've had an angel watching over me or something because I didn't even once reach out for any of it. My poor Ma though. This stupid shit had gotten her addicted. He was a small town dealer. Not like my father at all. My father had choice shit, God it was good. 

            But that's not important. 

            She hardly knew who I was anymore. I don't know if I had changed that much or she just still remembered me as a kid. It didn't matter, I saw in her what I was and knew I had done the right thing. For fucking once I had done the right thing. And I was going to save her too. One night when what's his face left to make a deal, I talked to her. Really opened up and told her all this shit. Everything I just told you, maybe more. She cried and I cried, it was like a fucking Lifetime movie. It felt so good to have someone again. She told me we needed to celebrate so I headed out to buy some wine or something. I didn't even think about how alcohol was another addiction. It didn't end up mattering anyway. 

            She must have shot up as soon as I walked out the fucking door. She couldn't be alone for ten minutes without getting fucked up on something. I came home in the middle of it. I'm still not sure what happened. Maybe she told him she was leaving him, though I doubt it. But whatever it was he was pissed and taking out on her. He was beating the shit out of her. My Ma isn't a big woman by any means. She's tiny. I was taller than her when I hit sixteen, when I killed that man. Speaking of killing a man. Heh…I have to joke about it now so it doesn't kill me inside. At least there was a reason this time. But I know I can't use that as an excuse. 

            I killed another man, except this time I used my hands. I felt his body under them. Felt him getting weaker. Even when he couldn't fight back I kept going. I was so angry.

            I convinced myself he had given my Ma more drugs when she told him she was stopping. But like I said, I don't know. She was behind me the whole time screaming for me to stop. She pulled at my arms but it didn't phase me. I was pissed. Maybe deep down I was pretending that he was my father. I don't know. But he was dead soon. I beat the life out of him. 

            You know how long it takes to literally beat the life out of someone? Longer than it should. 

            That man must have suffered a lot. All because of me. I calmed my Ma down, grabbed the rest of his stash and left the country before my Ma could build up enough courage to call the cops. I knew she would too. Hell, I would have. I managed to get to London with no problems. Even made it with the drugs. It was a little weed, some heroin and a few slices of LSD. 

            Actually three slices of LSD. 

            I must have thought that it was my lucky number because I was back screaming my name through the streets. Julian Marquez was alive again! Fuck yeah! And all it took was killing a man. 

            If I sound a little bitter it's because I am. I spent about two weeks strung up on that LSD. I felt so good, I was back to myself. The women were great, the sex was fucking phenomenal. I was back. Yeah, back on the way to hell. It didn't take long for them to wear off. Then I was stuck. I didn't have any money. You know how much a last minute plane ticket to London costs? Let's just say a lot. I left my hotel without paying. I slept in some park. Woke up and wandered around the city. That went on for about a week. It sucked ass. I had no money, no place to sleep, and worst of all, no drugs. I smoked the weed but that lasted about one hour. And it didn't make me feel good, just kinda made me blah. I wouldn't do the heroine. I had thrown it off of a bridge that first night I got back strung up on the LSD. I didn't even fucking realize that I could have sold it for more acid. Shows what the LSD would do to me. Nothing mattered but the feeling it gave me. 

            Well at the end of my first week without any drugs I walked past the most beautiful church you have ever seen. I couldn't bring myself to walk through the doors. I could only stand in front of it and stare. I knew I was going to be found soon. I killed a man and this was different from that first man. The only reason I killed the first man was that he had done something. Hell I don't even know what he did, but it was something against the Latin Kings. The 5-0 would have no way of connecting that to me. But this. This was personal. My Ma probably told them my name. It was almost night and I had made it to the bad part of town. I went down an alley to see if there was a semi-safe place for me to catch some z's. When I rounded the corner I found a long line going into the back door of a building. I knew exactly what it was. A street fight. A big one too. So I got in the line and was going to fight. 

            Hell I knew I could make some money then buy some acid. Then everything would be right in the world again. I wouldn't feel like I did now. I could win a fight, buy some acid, then find a hot chica and have a fucking great time. That was the plan. 

            It didn't go quite that way. 

            I fought and won. It was easy as hell. They took me in the back. I was giddy with excitement. I just wanted some money so I could start tripping out as soon as possible. They didn't want to give me money. They wanted me to join up with them. Told me I'd get paid for doing nothing, and that if I did anything wrong in my life, I wouldn't be found out. That tempted me. Way I figured it, if this was a criminal organization, there had to be drugs, and I'd get paid, and I was safe from the police. I could have gone to my father. But I was too proud for that. Pride will ruin your life. It did mine. Right then and there I did something worse than all the things I had done before.

            I sold my soul to a devil. 

            Now I'm working to get it back. It's slow. But I'm back to thinking about Christ and forgiveness. I'm trying and I hope that one day I find it. I know I have to forgive myself before God forgives me, and I don't know how long it's going to take. So don't bother with a penance, Padre. I'm not a very forgiving person. 

            I hate my fucking father.


	2. Seven years Later

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, it has been seven years since my last confession…

The shit has really hit the fan this time. I wish I could explain why it's been seven years since I spoke to God in confession. I don't know if it's because I haven't been sorry until now or if it's due to the fact that I now have a real chance.

I hadn't realized before that I was actually better off in prison. Doesn't make sense, I know. But you see, there I was alone twenty-four/seven. I couldn't hurt anyone when I was alone. My fucking train wreak of a life couldn't hurt anyone. That's not saying prison wasn't hell on earth. Maybe that's why I thought I deserved to be out of there so much. That any out was a righteous one. Even the road that had landed me in prison in the first place. But I'm jumping ahead.

I think maybe the solitary confinement is what really did it. Or maybe the circumstances of it. You know Father, I think Satan knows where to hit the hardest. One more, he knows the exact time to do it. And it's fucking hard to come back from that initial blow. It's a big one. I helped a friend out, tried to right some wrongs in my past, and BOOM, right when I'm thinking I have a real chance, it bites me in the ass. It's strange to think that one of the most happy moments in my life is also one of the saddest moments too. I know I did the right thing, but you know what's really fucked up? Until a few days ago I wasn't so sure. I was so angry, at myself, my father, God… that I wished pain, death, whatever was to come on the people I helped all to have my son back. I even though I knew I couldn't bring him back, I was justified because it's what I thought I deserved. Revenge.

So yeah, let that anger build up while you're all alone and have nothing at all and see what you get. I was practically mad, Ken even came to see me but I wouldn't speak to him. He had nothing to do with any of this, if anything he'd saved me, but like I said, I was angry. Then me father came and offered up the deal. I sold my soul again, this time for freedom, for my just desserts. I condemned another man in the process, but he was a trivial part of my decision. To be alive again, to be a part of the human race that matters, that's what was important.

Kind of sucks now to realize that all I did was make it worse on myself. I did things I never thought I'd do again. I was back on the path to hell and loving every minute of it.

Another man died because of me. I let him be put into the hell my life had become when he'd done nothing wrong. I know I would have tried to escape if the situation were switched. When I found out I laughed. Oh God, I laughed so fucking hard. I was home free. There was no way I was going to be found out now. No one would be looking for a dead man. But that's not the way it worked out.

My new life was going as smoothly as could be expected. New drugs to try….it's amazing what's been done to LSD over seven years…new women to try…heh, it's amazing what's been done to women over seven years. It was like riding a bike. I felt good, I was happy, I was living a real life. My life was real.

Then like lightning striking there she was. Free and alive, living her life…a life she'd absent mindedly taken from me. Her presence was threatening to take away everything I'd just been given. I say that now to make the point that that was how I was feeling in the moment I saw her. My anger isn't there now…it'd be wrong for it to be. I've done so much more to her now. But anyway, I wasn't ready to give up my life again. I didn't want it to be over this quickly. So I used her, her old emotions for me. She was going to let me go, deep down she felt guilt for what had been done to me, and I used that. She let me go, but I didn't let her go.

And that was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Trust me Father, there's been a lot.

I think another thing about the solitary confinement was that I never got to talk to anyone. It's amazing to realize how much a person needs their daily interactions to stay sane. Add in the fact that I was anything but sane and you get my point. Nothing had been let out…none of my anger had been realized over seven years. It'd just been building and festering and eating away at my insides. And here I was with the woman who I'd started to believe was the reason for all of it at my mercy.

I wasn't myself Father. I was anger incarnate. I was possessed…

And now she's suffered a loss that I can more than relate to, because of me. And for some oddity of fate, I was given back my son. I don't understand it at all. Why was my son brought back to me because I killed a woman's unborn child? It wasn't what I wanted. I know the loss of a child. Hell, that was the root of my anger. Like that our roles were reversed. I was the one who should have been guilty and she needed to be stewing with anger.

It's been a blur since then. A blur of the pieces of my life being put in some kind of order. My son isn't in my arms yet, but that's to come. I am truly sorry for everything I've said above. I don't know if I've given you reasonable explanations. I hope it was enough for you and God to know I'm truly sorry, for everything.

God's given me my millionth chance of a lifetime and I'm here to say that this time, I'm taking it for all it's worth.


	3. Confession

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, it's been three weeks since my last confession.

Oh God, it's all so wrong! I don't know what to do. I just want to give in, to get mad, to fucking rebel…to let God and the whole fucking world know I was wronged. That my Dad was wronged.

That's not the way to die. Not for a normal person and not for a person who's been through the Hell my Dad's been through. Yeah, he was a shitty father, and absent one for the whole beginning of my life, but he made up for it ten fold. He fought for me, he loved me. I loved him, No, no…I'm not going to say that just yet. I love him, I love him!

He's gone and there's nothing I can do about it.

He tried so hard to get away from it, to run from his past, but it was always two steps ahead of him. He fucked up a lot, you and I know that, Father. But he was good, he had a good heart and to have it all ended the way it began. He deserved better.

I'm no Saint, by any means…hell, I was dealt a pretty fucked up hand if you ask me. I guess it's my disclaimer. But Dad, he was worse off than me, though I never gave him credit for it before now. He got himself together, he really did. We were almost normal. Almost.

He saved me from the hell my own life had become. People tell me he was trying to save himself, but they don't know shit. They don't know us, how we were, how we've been the last few years. It's been the greatest time of my life, being with him. And he's gone, out of the game long before his time.

Maybe I just want to understand why this all happened this way. Why God let this happen to someone who fought so hard to be good, despite the bad. Why did our compassionate God let my Dad get shot in the heart like he was a common criminal?

Can you fucking tell me that, 'messenger of God'? You priests always talk about the love and compassion God shows good people who love and believe in him. Bullshit. Where was that for my Dad? Where has God ever been when my Dad needed him? Everything he got was on his own, despite God.

He was shot down protecting my wife, you know. He was protecting her when I couldn't. Protecting what he'd never had. He never had a chance and it knew it, but he still tried.

Father, I'm his only son, his only child, the only one to carry on his name…he'll never even get to meet his first grandchild. Listen to me now and listen good. I'll never get over this. I'm not here to confess, I'm not sorry for shit. It's official. Put my name on a fucking list if you want to. We'll make it Goddamn formal even.

I, Dorian Marquez will never forgive God for letting my father die like this. Never.


End file.
